Injured
by MavenAlysse
Summary: a broken down car, a sudden storm - there's always two sides to the story.
1. Nick's Story

Poltergeist: The Legacy

Injured "Nick's story."

by: Maven Alysse

Disclaimer: Poltergeist: The Legacy belongs to Showtime and Trilogy Entertainment Group

A/N: Written June 1998. Originally posted on a geocities site that has since gone defunct. Thanks to Aislinn for being an awesome beta!

Injured: "Nick's Story."

It was late, nearing one in the morning, when Nick finally admitted that he was lost. Turning the overhead light on he peered at the map Derek had drawn for him showing the way to the small town of Merrel. 'Should have been there by now,' he mused. 'Wish these directions had been clearer.' He pulled out his cell-phone. 'Maybe Derek can clear this up for me.' Nick winced at the static that snarled in his ear. 'Or not. Guess that case of his will have to wait until I can figure out where I am.'

A low roll of thunder was heard and a few drops of ran splattered on the windshield. Nick snapped off the interior light and continued down the road. He hadn't seen any signs of civilization in quite some time and hoped he'd find something soon. The rain fell harder, making the road slippery. He could feel the car jerk as the wheels alternately slipped from or gripped the pavement. 'What else can happen?' As if in answer, the car slued to one side, running off the road and onto the shoulder. Something snagged the undercarriage of the vehicle and brought it up short, jerking Nick in his seat. "Whoa!" Nick tried putting the car into reverse, but the engine stalled and refused to turn over. Nick swore softly to himself. "Had to ask, didn't I?"

Nick looked distastefully out at the rain as he zipped his black leather jacket up. He slipped the cell-phone into a pocket, donned a pair of gloves, and left the relative safety of the car. His dark brown hair was instantly plastered to his skull - bangs hanging in his eyes. Checking under the car, he swore again. A tree branch had seemingly wrapped itself around the axle of his car, effectively pinning it in place. No amount of pushing or pulling loosened its hold. 'I'm gonna need a tow truck. Terrific.' Nick stood and looked around. From his vantage point he could just make out the lights of some sort of building a couple of miles away. 'Nothing for it then. Guess I'll have to walk.' He sighed. "Let's get this show on the road, then."

Three-quarters of an hour saw Nick breathing a sigh of relief as a three story house came into view. It looked Victorian, with a balcony and porch overlooking a large front lawn and garden. The storm had not let up. In fact, it had become increasingly worse over time. As Nick made his way up towards the porch, a light went on in a room on the second floor. "Looks like someone's up. Hope they can help." He sneezed twice, his eyes tearing, and stifled a cough. 'Great. Now I've gone and caught a cold.'

Nick climbed the steps leading to the door, glad to be under some cover. He knocked on the door, suppressing a shiver as the wind took that moment to run down his collar. Waiting, he wiped the rain off his face and shook what he could from his hair and clothes.

A bolt of lightning flashed, the immediate thunder crash reverberating in his chest told him how close it had come. Suddenly, the hairs on Nick's neck tingled almost painfully. A brief hush and the taste of ozone in the air caused Nick to scan the sky anxiously. 'Incoming,' he thought wildly. As if it had heard, a bolt sizzled down, striking a nearby oak tree with the intensity of a bomb. Nick flung up an arm to protect his face from the wooden shrapnel that exploded from the tree. The dying tree toppled, branches falling on and catching at the porch roof. With a groan, the roof began caving in. Nick tried to leap off the porch to safety, but a branch caught him squarely on the side of his head, spinning him back onto the porch. His last view was of a support beam falling towards him.

Nick opened his eyes, but it was several long minutes before his brain was able to sort through all the images and sensations rushing over him. He shut them quickly and groaned as the room began spinning. 'What happened?' Images of the storm, the falling tree, and his own unsuccessful attempt of getting off the porch assailed him.

Almost automatically, he quickly ran an assessment of himself, checking for injuries. His head ached abominably. His fingertips discovered a thick bandage on his right temple. 'Must've been from the branch.' His left arm was immobilized, set in a kind of splint. A quick examination revealed it to be because of a badly sprained and bruised shoulder and not from a break. 'Thank heaven.' The movement, however, caused pain to flair in his side. He hitched in a breath, now aware of bandages wrapped tightly about his ribs. 'Must've cracked a few. If not broken them outright.' One ankle was lightly bandaged, but rotating it caused no pain, so Nick assumed it had been cut. The other injuries were nothing but bruises and small cuts, nothing to really worry about, but damned uncomfortable.

Assured that he was going to live, Nick glanced around the room, trying to figure out where he was. He was laying in a four-poster bed in a small bedroom. A chest of drawers and a wardrobe stood in one corner; a writing desk with chair and lamp stood in another. His clothing and personal effects lay on the desk, apparently intact. It was then that he realized that he was dressed only in his boxers. The light streaming in from the window told him that it was late afternoon. The look of the room lead him to think that he was still at the old Victorian house. 'Wonder if anyone is about?' "Hello? Is there anyone here?" He was startled at how weak his voice sounded. It had a rasping quality he'd never heard before which scared him somewhat. He listened intently, but all he could hear was his breath wheezing in and out of his lungs.

He noticed a glass of water on the table beside him and was suddenly aware of how thirsty he was. He eased himself upright, but the sudden shift caused him to start coughing. The coughs rocked him, causing his already injured chest to spasm. He doubled over, fists clenching the cotton sheets of the bed. His vision clouded over, sparkles of light appearing as he desperately tried to stop coughing and take in a breath of oxygen. The bout of coughing set his ribs afire and his head to pounding. Then, as if to further torment him, his diaphragm kinked up and refused to draw in anymore air. Gasping, Nick fell back onto the pillow and passed out.

Nick came to sometime later. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out. He'd had a vague idea that someone had been in sitting beside him and soothing his coughs and fevered brow, but he didn't know who. His dreams had been both comforting and uneasy. Everything of importance that had happened to him in his life had seemed to make an appearance in his dream, almost like a film for some unknown observer.

A small water basin and cloth stood on the desk along with a bottle of something and a few bandages. His aches and pains were greatly diminished, much to his surprise. He noticed that his arm was no longer immobilized, though still very sore and that the bandage on his temple had been changed and was smaller than before.

His mouth felt as dry as a desert and he was glad to see that the glass of water was still on the bedside table. 'Wonder if I can get it this time.' Carefully, very carefully, he eased himself upright. He stifled a cough, eyes narrowed in apprehension, but the movement didn't trigger another coughing bout. This time he successfully retrieved the water and gulped it down greedily. Finished, he noticed a small plate of bread and fruit, along with cubes of meat and cheese on the table. He was hungry, but more curious as to the identity of his mysterious benefactor. "Hello?"

No response.

Nick eyed the desk warily, wondering if he could retrieve his clothing. "Never know till I try. Here we go. Once more into the breach." He was gratified to note his voice sounded better, only rasping slightly. He rose slowly, took a few stumbling steps and leaned heavily on the desk. He spent a couple of minutes regaining his balance and easing the coughing.

Although it took a bit of doing, he felt immensely better once he had his jeans on. Noting the rips and bloodstains, he gave the shirt up as a lost cause. He was surprised to find his wallet, keys, and gun (with bullets) lying beside his shoes. 'Humn. Either they don't think I'll be a threat or they want to let me know that they mean no harm.' He tucked the gun in the waistband at his back taking comfort in its cool weight. The only things he couldn't find were his cell-phone and Swiss army knife. 'Maybe they fell out during the accident.' He replaced his things into his pockets and carefully eased on his jacket. He wasn't sure he was going to be coming back to this room or not. 'Better to be prepared for anything,' the ex-Navy SEAL thought.

Nick slipped his feet into his shoes - sans socks - and was going to check the house when his stomach sharply reminded him that he was forgetting something. He made sort work of the food, again thankful to... 'Whoever. Let's find out, shall we? If nothing else, maybe I'll find a working phone.' He made his way down the hall, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. He glanced briefly into each room he passed. The rooms were furnished elegantly, if simply, but none seemed to exhibit any life. 'Everything's neat as a pin, almost like no one lives here at all, except that there's no dust.'

By the time he reached the staircase he was breathing hard from exertion. He sat heavily on the top step, one arm hugging his ribs, the other pinching the bridge of his nose as his vision blurred. He closed his eyes for a moment taking in a shuddering breath, trying to steady himself. His eyes snapped open at the sound of footsteps below him. "Hello? Is someone there?"

He received no response and a glance down the stairs didn't reveal anything. He struggled to his feet, wincing in pain, and cautiously made his way to the first floor watching for any movement. He found his cell-phone spread out upon the kitchen table. The casing was covered in a spider-web of cracks and he could tell that some of the wiring had been destroyed. A lamp lay dismantled beside the phone, his knife beside it. He poked at the various parts. 'Looks like someone's trying to repair it.' Nick made another sweep of the house, this time noting that there were no phones in evidence. As he checked, he wondered about his missing host. 'Could I have imagined those footsteps?' His instincts said no, but there didn't appear to be anyone but himself in the house. 'Now, who would leave a stranger alone in their house? Never mind that he's injured and might not be able to move on his own. I don't get it.'

He drifted back to the kitchen and started fiddling with the phone. 'Guess this is going to be my only way out of here.' He examined the damage and smiled for the first time since starting on this nightmare trip. 'I can rig this up in a couple of hours, no problem.'

A few hours later.

'Here goes.' Nick pressed the 'talk' button and nervously waited for the dial-tone. 'A bit static-y, but it works. Let's see if I can find out where I am.' He punched in the number for information, hoping to get hold of an operator, but all he got was time and temp. "Damn," he said softly. 'All right. Let's go for broke here.' He dialed the house number, praying someone would answer.

He bit his bottom lip as the answering machine picked up. ~"You have reached the Luna Foundation. No one is currently able to take your call. Please leave your name and number and we'll get right back to you." *beep*~

"Derek? You in? It's Nick. Look, I had an accident and I'm not too sure where I am. Call me on my cell-phone, I finally got it working again. 555-1325. Bye." He hung up, disappointed. As if responding to his mood, his body took that time to betray him. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he clutched at the table, knuckles white, to keep from falling. When it passed, he stumbled into the living room, stretched out on the couch and fell instantly asleep.

Nick was burning up with fever. 'Guess I pushed myself too hard.' He shifted on the couch, not quite awake, but unable to sleep either. Without opening his eyes he could tell that his jacket and shoes had once again been removed. A wet cloth was placed upon his forehead, wonderfully cool. Opening his eyes, all he could make out was a slender form kneeling beside him. He couldn't make out any features; night had fallen and his eyes refused to focus properly. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

"Hush," he thought he heard. "Your friends will be here for you soon."

Confused, and anxious to see his benefactor, Nick tried to sit up. "But..."

He was gently pushed back. Cool fingers stilled his lips then stroked his fevered brow until he was lulled back into sleep.

Just before dawn, Nick woke once again. Someone had placed a pillow beneath his head and a warm afghan was tucked about him. His headache had lessened as well as the fever that had gripped him earlier. Nick looked about and was unsurprised to see a glass of water nearby. He drank about half then put it down. Quietly, almost to himself, he said, "I don't know if you're about, but... thank you. For everything."

As he drifted back to sleep he thought he heard, "You're welcome."

Nick heard voices, as if from a great distance. "Alex, you and Rachel search upstairs. Philip, you check this side of the house, I'll check the other." A murmuring of assent was heard. A moment later: "Nick? Derek, I found him!" He felt his hand being picked up and a strong Irish voice, filled with worry and concern, reached his ears again. "Nick? Please wake up, Nick." A warm hand stroked the side of his face.

Nick opened bleary eyes and focused upon his friend's face, who knelt beside him. "Heya, Philip," he whispered. "When did you get here?"

Philip heaved a sigh of relief. "God, Nick. We've been worried sick. Are you all right?" The priest grasped Nick's sore shoulder and quickly removed it at the wince of pain.

"I've felt better," he said truthfully. He looked about the room. Derek was coming out of the kitchen and Alex and Rachel rushed back down the stairs.

Rachel gently moved Philip out of the way in order to examine Nick. "How are you feeling, Nick?"

"Sore." His voice was still rough, but the ugly rasping quality was gone.

She poked at his bandaged ribs, eliciting a hiss from him. "Who patched you up, kiddo? They did a terrific job."

Nick shrugged. "Dunno. Never saw them."

Derek raised a brow. "In all the time you were here, you saw no one?" His voice sounded amazed.

"No," he said absently, his thoughts focused on what Derek had said and the look the others were exchanging. "What do you mean 'in all the time I was here'? How long have I been here?"

Derek sighed. "Two weeks."

"Two...?" Incredulous, Nick tried to sit up but was pushed back by Rachel. "Lie still." She said sharply with a glare at Derek. "Let me finish." A few moments later she pulled the afghan back up around his shoulders. "Well, your ribs are healing nicely. As is that nasty cut on your forehead. From the slight fever and raspiness of your voice, I'd say you're also getting over a bout of pneumonia. With some antibiotics, you'll be fine in no time." She smiled down at the young man.

"What happened to you, Nick?" Alex reached down to smooth his bangs out of his eyes.

"I was on my way to Merrel. Took a wrong turn somewhere. Axle got caught up by a branch a few miles up the road. Had to hike it here in the rain. When I made it here, I got caught when the porch fell in." The others winced. "Next thing I know, I'm in a room upstairs. I thought I'd only been here a couple of days. I must have been real sick not to notice."

"Well, let's get you home then, shall we?" Derek nodded to Philip who retrieved Nick's shirt and held it up to help the young man into it. Nick stared at it for a moment before putting it on, the bloodstains were gone and the rips had been mended. He stuffed his feet into his shoes and let the others help him to his feet. He swayed a bit, Philip grabbed an elbow to steady him. "How did you find me, anyway?"

Alex answered. "When we got your message, we kept trying your cell-phone. The first couple of days, we didn't get a response." Nick blinked at that. "Then yesterday Derek called and someone picked up. No one said anything, but the connection stayed open. We contacted your service and triangulated your position."

He smiled weakly. "You make it sound so easy."

Derek interrupted. "It wasn't. This house isn't on the maps. We literally stumbled upon it." The group left the house through the back door and made their way up front to the car.

Nick looked at the wreck of what had once been a magnificent porch. The oak tree lay flat across the front door, having crushed the porch roof and flattened the platform. Nick's face paled and he murmured, "Nothing could have survived that."

Philip placed an arm across his shoulders. "You were verra lucky. You must have just cleared the deck."

Nick felt a chill up his spine and he suppressed a shudder as he remembered only too well how he had hit the side of the house when the branch had slammed into him. He had been directly under a supporting beam as it fell. 'By all rights, I should be dead.' He closed his eyes and swayed dizzily. He'd come so close to dying.

Philip braced him as he tried to catch his balance. "Nick?"

"I'm fine. I just..." he paused and looked entreatingly at his friend, "Can we go home, now? Please?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we can go home now." Philip helped Nick into the car and the others piled in as well.

Derek cleared his throat. "We had your car towed back to the island. No one had bothered it."

Nick nodded absently, looking out the window towards the house. He thought he saw a figure looking out from the second story window - but it disappeared before he could tell for sure. 'Thank you,' he thought silently.

'Your welcome,' came the response.

Nick's Journal Entry:

It's been several days since I had been found at the old house. Rachel seems confident that I'll make a full recovery. My illness and injuries explain, at least to her and the others, the reasons behind why I had no knowledge of the passage of time. I drove by the house yesterday, despite Rachel's protests. The house, when I could find it, was completely empty – all the furnishings gone, as if they'd never been. All I found was a pure white feather in the room where I thought I had seen my benefactor as I was leaving.

One thing has changed. My nightmares have all but disappeared. Somehow, during my illness, I finally started letting go of everything that had been festering inside of me for so long. Most of it still hurts, but I really think I'm healing in more than just my body. I don't know if my benefactor had anything to do with it, but something inside tells me yes, and I am eternally grateful for that.

I checked the background of that house. No one's lived there in almost seventy years, no one's died of unexplained or tragic means. But I am positive that someone, or something, helped me when I needed it most. Though more familiar with the evils of this world, I believe that this will help me remember that not all of the entities that we encounter are harmful. Perhaps one day I'll discover who or what really helped me, and I'll be able to give a proper thanks. Until that time, I shall enjoy this second chance at life.

**The End.**


	2. The Other Side of the Story

Poltergeist: The Legacy

Injured: "The Other Side of the Story."

by: Maven Alysse

Sequel to: Injured: "Nick's Story".

Disclaimer: Poltergeist: The Legacy belongs to Showtime and Trilogy Entertainment Group

A/N: Written June 1998. Originally posted on a geocities site that has since gone defunct. Thanks to Aislinn for being an awesome beta!

Injured "The other side of the story."

The storm raged across the sky. The flashes of lightning turned the night to day. 'What a night!' I turned on a light so I could find my way up later then wandered downstairs and made myself comfortable in the window seat overlooking the porch and front yard. Almost lulled to sleep by the rain, motion drew my attention to the end of the yard. A dark figure was making its way towards the house. 'Who would be out on a night like this?'

Intermittent flashes of light gave me glimpses of him as he climbed up on the porch. Sodden black leather jacket, hands jammed into the pockets, collar up around a thin serious face. Tennis shoes that were most definitely soaked through. Blue jeans that clung to lean legs. Dark brown hair that was plastered against his skull. 'Bet its real soft when dry,' came the stray thought.

The thick door and the storm muffled the sound of his knock. A flash of lightning, followed closely by a crash of thunder, caused both of us to jump. With a sudden premonition I clawed at the window's lock, struggling to get it open. I knew I wouldn't make it to the door in time, but I had to get to him, somehow.

Moments later, the oak tree that had stood as silent sentry through nearly nine decades exploded in a shower of sparks and wood shards as lightning pierced down from the heavens. I watched the man duck from shards and try to jump off the porch as the oak tumbled forward onto the porch roof. I got the window open just as a branch cracked up against the man's head, flinging him closer to me... and to danger. I winced as he landed with a thud, hitting his head against the floor. The roof began caving in. I wasn't going to make it to him in time.

Luck was with us, the wrought-iron bench at one end of the porch caught the weight of the falling support beam, saving the man from being crushed completely. Quickly, I crawled out the window to his side. He was unconscious, a nasty-looking cut above his eye bled profusely. A section of the roof lay across his chest and left arm. After a few moments of struggling I was able to remove it, making it easier to slide him out from under the beam, if necessary. 'I... probably shouldn't move him. No telling what kind of injuries he has.'

A sudden shifting in the floorboards convinced me otherwise. 'This whole thing is gonna collapse. Guess that means we're moving.' I grasped him under the arms and pulled him towards the window, trying not to jar him any more than I had to. "Sorry about this." I hoisted him through the window, careful not to drop him on the other side, apologizing the whole time.

I lay him out on the living room floor, thankful that he still breathed. "Don't go anywhere," I mumbled. 'Yeah, right. Like where's he going to go?' I grabbed a few towels and the med kit from the bathroom. A crash had me running back. The floorboards had finally given way sending the support beam right through, along with the bench. The tree now lay flush against the house. 'Guess I'll be using the back door for a while.'

I turned my attention to the man by my feet. I patched up the wound on his forehead then checked him for other injuries. Carefully removing his jacket and shirt, I found an angry bruise blossoming across his chest, indicating a fracture or break in one or more rib. I gently ran my hands across his ribs, assessing the damage. "One broken, two others are cracked, at least. Well, mister, it looks like you're gonna have some problems with moving about for a bit. But it doesn't seem as if they've punched into anything. Thank God."

I talked to him the whole time I wrapped up his ribs and checked for any other injuries. I wasn't sure if he heard me or not, but it helped me keep focused. I heard a ::clunk:: as I shifted him about. Curious, I reached underneath him and pulled out a gun. A bit shocked, I checked that the safety was on and the chamber empty before setting it aside, though my gaze returned to it frequently during my administrations. 'Luger. 9mm. In excellent condition. Whew. I sure hope you have a license for that thing, boyo.' I decided to put it out of my mind until I learned more about my new guest.

I noticed a shudder run through him and I chided myself. 'Good going. He's soaked, now he's probably got a cold. Better get him out of those wet things before he gets any worse.' I thought for a moment, trying to decide the best place for him. 'Guest bedroom. It's got its own bathroom and I can hear him from my room if he needs anything.'

I settled him into the bed: I removed his clothing and toweled him dry as best I could, then tucked the covers over him. Other than a few cuts and scrapes, his only other major injury was his shoulder. It had become dislocated. 'I hope I didn't do that to him when moving him.' I placed a glass of water beside his bed, then went through his pockets. I felt guilty, but since he didn't seem like he would be waking any time soon to answer my questions, I felt I had the right to find out who he was. 'Especially since he had that gun.'

I sat at the desk and examined my find: a well-used Swiss army knife, a handful of change, a set of keys. 'I wonder if his car is nearby?' I pulled out his cell-phone. The casing was cracked, almost shattered, and a shake got me a rattle for my troubles. 'Oh, this has certainly seen better days.' I turned it on, but didn't get a dial tone. 'Wonder if I can fix it? Won't know till I try, I guess.' I put it aside for a moment and retrieved his wallet.

'Bingo,' I thought, as I pulled out his drivers' license. "Humn..." I mumbled to myself. "Nicholas Patrick Boyle. Mind if I call you Nick?" I glanced at his unconscious figure and shook my head wryly. "Sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes. Age: 25. Hair: Brown; obviously. Eyes: Hazel. Five foot eight, hundred and sixty pounds. Well, that all fits." I found a military I.D. "Let's see... Says here you're an ex Navy S.E.A.L. Impressive. Anything else?"

I pulled out the rest of the wallet's contents. Only a few items seemed of importance. One was a license for the gun he carried. 'Well, that's one worry off my mind.' Another was a card identifying him as the head of security for the Luna Foundation based in San Francisco. "A bit far from home, aren't we, my friend?" A contact number under the name of Dr. Derek Raynes was listed. "Huh. The sooner I can get that phone working, the better."

The last were a couple of pictures. One was of Nick and a young woman with blonde hair. They stood closely together and I could tell that they cared for one another deeply. A large mansion could be seen in the background. I flipped the picture over. On the back was written, 'Nick- with all my love- Julia. '90' "It figures that you'd be attached, wouldn't it?" I asked with a grin.

The other was a group photo. Nick sat in a chair in the center. A young girl sat in his lap. On one side was a young man who sat on the arm of the chair, one arm draped over Nick's shoulders. On the other was a stunning Creole woman, her eyes warm with affection. An older gentleman and woman stood behind the chair, smiling at the camera. On the back was written, 'Happy Birthday, Nick.' And it was signed by everyone in the photo. 'Love, Derek, Rachel, Philip, Alex, and Kat. '93.'

I slowly replaced the items back in the wallet, taking care to put everything where I had gotten it. Piling everything neatly onto the desk, I debated with myself, then placed his gun with his other belongings with a shrug. 'It's his. And he's got a license. It's not as if he can do anything to me. Not in the state he's in now, anyway.' I checked on my patient. He hadn't moved, but sweat dotted his brow and his face looked flushed. I bathed his face, taking care not to get his bandage wet. I talked to him while I worked, or to myself, who knew what he was aware of. "You're a lucky man, Mr. Boyle. They look like good friends. You'll definitely be missed." I leaned back and took another good look at him. "So let's see what we can do about getting you home as soon as possible, shall we?"

I took his cell-phone and knife downstairs with me to see if I could fix it. I ended up having to cannibalize a couple of lamps for wiring. The accident had fried some of the wiring and the broken casing had clipped a few others, they needed splicing.

I eventually had to temporarily abandon my repairs. Nick became extremely ill. He had caught a cold during the storm, and the accident had caused complications turning it into pneumonia. I did what I could for him; bathing him when the fever spiked, giving him liquids to replace what he sweated away. I had some penicillin in the med kit and I gave that to him hoping the antibiotic would help. I hadn't seen anything stating he was allergic to anything. I only prayed that he wasn't, all the while listening to the air rasping in his lungs.

I never understood why the body insisted on replaying that which was painful or terrifying when it was injured. I always thought a person would heal faster if they had pleasant memories to concentrate on. Nick's fevers were accompanied by nightmares. At least, I think they were nightmares. Some of the things he babbled were so fantastic: tales of werewolves, ghosts, demons, vampires, all taken care of by the people in his picture, and something called the Legacy... it was difficult to believe that they could have actually happened. But, somehow, I knew that everything he talked about was real.

Not all of his dreams were terrifying, though. He had good memories as well, and he shared them with me, albeit unknowingly. At first, I was embarrassed to be hearing his private thoughts and feelings, but in the five days that the fever raged, I learned a lot about that young man. His strength and determination to survive and to help his friends awed me. His sensitivity and compassion shone through, as well.

I knew that he was desperately ill and needed a doctor, but I was terrified of leaving him alone for the amount of time it would have taken me to walk to town for help. His lungs were so congested, several times I would have sworn he was going to stop breathing.

I was downstairs getting more ice when he apparently tried to get out of bed. I heard his coughing from down the hall. Long, harsh sounds, as if he was tearing himself apart from the inside out. Then, silence. I rushed to his room, my heart in my throat. I found him flopped sideways on the bed, unconscious, a fever raging. He spent the rest of the morning submerged in my bathtub, a pack of ice on his neck and forehead, as I tried to bring his temperature down to a more tolerable level. I thought I was going to lose him. The fever broke two long days later.

I cut up the last of the meat and cheese I had and put it on a plate to leave in Nick's room. I was hoping he'd feel well enough later to be able to eat some of it. 'Going to need some supplies soon.' I checked on him and changed his bandages. He was sleeping peacefully, his skin cool. His lungs were almost completely clear of all the junk that had clogged it and he was breathing easier. "Okay, Nick. I'm going to see if I can find your car. I'm assuming you didn't walk all the way here. If I can, I'll bring it here and then get you to town and a doctor. If not..." I brushed his hair off his forehead hoping he could hear something of what I was saying. "Well, your phone had better not be too difficult to fix, now had it?" I rose and made my way out of the room. "I shouldn't be too long."

'Now. Should I check towards town or away from town?' I contemplated the area for a moment, trying to remember exactly what was between here and town. 'Away from town. I don't think he'd have shown up here if he knew "civilization" was only a few miles away. There isn't much around here.' I kept a brisk pace up, there was a chill in the air and I didn't want to leave my guest alone any longer than necessary. I glanced at the overcast sky and hoped it wouldn't rain until after I got back to the house.

I checked a few promising places - areas where a space in the underbrush indicated a car had passed through - with no luck. I was out for an hour before I spotted a red Mustang off to the side of the road. A Luna Foundation sticker could be seen on a corner of the windshield. 'This must be it. Nice car.'

I noticed that the car was canted at an odd angle, as if it rested on something. Checking underneath, I saw that the car's axle was entangled by a tree branch. Testing the strength of the branch I concluded that moving the car would entail a minor miracle, 'Or at least a tow truck. Just our luck.' It was then that I noticed that I had forgotten to bring the keys with me. 'Well then, it's a good thing that moving it is a moot point anyway, isn't it?' I was annoyed with myself, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. I checked that the car was secure then made my way back to the house.

Once at the house, I went upstairs to check on Nick. All I found was a rumpled bed and his torn and bloodstained shirt still lying on the chair. I picked it up, a bit shocked. 'Where did he go?' Peripherally, I noticed that the water and food I'd left were gone. 'Looks like he's feeling better. Better go find him, see how well he really is.'

I checked the house, starting with the upstairs room and making my way down. I heaved a sigh of relief when I spotted him lying on the couch. I'd missed seeing him when I had gone up the back stairs. I went over to him. He was sleeping. A quick check showed that he was bothered by a low-grade fever, perspiration dotted his forehead. "Overexerted yourself, didn't you?" I chided. I wet a cloth in the kitchen, noticing that the phone was missing.

Returning to Nick, I found the phone on the floor by the couch. 'Wonder if you got through to anyone?'

I gently bathed his face, then took his shoes and jacket off, making him more comfortable. I found a warm afghan and tucked it around him. 'It'll be easier to deal with you down here for now. Not sure I could get you back up those stairs again.' I picked up the phone, wincing at the static. I tried auto re-dial, but apparently not all the repairs were perfect, only the first three numbers went through, then the phone cut off. Thinking, I pulled out Nick's wallet and found the contact number for the Luna Foundation. I tried calling, but the storm that had been threatening all day seemed to be scrambling the signals and I couldn't get through to anyone. Defeated, I concentrated on Nick's condition.

It rained unceasingly during the next few days. Nick's fever had returned, though not as bad as previously, thank God. I got him to drink some soup at one point and I made sure to keep liquids in him. A couple of times the phone ringed, but when I picked up, all I got was a dial tone. I couldn't tell if it was due to the weather or due to faulty wiring, but it sure was annoying knowing help was only a phone call away, and the phone wouldn't work. To distract myself, I worked on fixing Nick's shirt. I was able to get the bloodstains out of his shirt with some judicious scrubbing and I mended the rips in it.

It was about ten in the evening when the phone rang. I picked it up, hoping, praying that this time it would work. "Hello?"

"Nick? Nick are you there?" The gentleman's voice sounded tight with worry and concern, his accent making his words clipped. "Nick? It's Derek."

"Hello? Mr. Raynes? Can you hear me?" I raised my voice, hoping he'd hear.

"Nick? Look, if you can hear me, don't hang up the phone. Do you understand? I repeat, do not hang up the phone. We'll find where you are and come to you." There was a pause and some murmuring. I assume he was talking to someone in the room with him. "Nick? We're coming. Just hang on."

I set the phone down, my teeth worrying my bottom lip. 'Well, guess some help's on the way. Though how they're going to find us..." I shrugged.

Later that night, I placed a new cloth on Nick's forehead. The fever was lessening, but still causing problems. He shifted on the couch, the first independent motion he'd made in quite some time. I was relieved, hopeful that he would awaken.

His eyes were slightly glazed over as he looked up at me. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

"Hush," I told him. I didn't want him moving about too much. He was still sick. "Your friends will be here for you soon."

Confusion entered into his hazel eyes and he tried to sit up. "But..."

I gently pushed him back. I stilled his lips with my fingers then stroked his fevered brow until he was lulled back into sleep.

It was near dawn when I heard Nick stir. I was curled up in the armchair next to the couch, half asleep. He reached over for the glass of water I had placed nearby and drank about half of it. I didn't want to startle him, so I kept quiet. He laid back down on the couch and appeared to have fallen asleep. I was surprised when I heard him whisper, "I don't know if you're about, but... thank you. For everything."

I don't know if he heard me, but I whispered back, "You're welcome."

The next morning, I was upstairs, cleaning up the guest room while Nick slept when I heard voices downstairs. I glided over to the top of the stairs and looked down. Four people entered the living room. I recognized them from Nick's photograph. The older, distinguished looking man spoke. "Alex, you and Rachel search upstairs. Philip, you check this side of the house, I'll check the other." A murmuring of assent was heard. The two women started up the stairs. The younger spoke first. "Do you think he's all right, Rachel?"

"I sure hope so, Alex. I sure hope so." They were almost to the top when Philip's voice rang out. "Nick? Derek, I found him!" The two exchanged glances and ran back downstairs. I followed them, stopping half-way down and sitting on the steps. I could see the entire room, even Nick lying on the couch. I don't know why I didn't try to gain their attention. I was just glad that they had arrived.

I watched as Philip knelt by Nick and picked up his hand, his strong Irish voice filled with worry and concern. "Nick? Please wake up, Nick."

Nick opened his eyes and focused upon his friend's face. "Heya, Philip," he whispered. "When did you get here?"

Philip heaved a sigh of relief. "God, Nick. We've been worried sick. Are you all right?" The priest grasped Nick's sore shoulder and quickly removed it at the wince of pain.

"I've felt better," came the quiet reply. He looked about the room. Derek was coming out of the kitchen and Alex and Rachel had already rushed back down the stairs. I tried to blend into the wall. I didn't want the attention of these people. 'Humnph,' I thought, 'Heck of a time to get shy all of a sudden.' But I didn't move.

Rachel gently moved Philip out of the way in order to examine Nick. "How are you feeling, Nick?"

"Sore." His voice was still rough, but the ugly rasping quality was gone.

She poked at his bandaged ribs, eliciting a hiss from him. "Who patched you up, kiddo? They did a terrific job." I smiled at that, glad I had done all right.

Nick shrugged. "Dunno. Never saw them."

Derek spoke, "In all the time you were here, you saw no one?" I could hear the amazement in his voice.

"No," he said absently. "What do you mean 'in all the time I was here'? How long have I been here?"

Derek sighed. "Two weeks."

"Two...?" Incredulous, Nick tried to sit up but was pushed back by Rachel. "Lie still." She said sharply with a glare at Derek. "Let me finish." I bit my lower lip, I'd lost track of time too. It hadn't felt like two weeks, but... I thought it over and found it was true. 'No wonder they looked so frantic. And so relieved to find him okay.'

A few moments later Rachel pulled the afghan back up around his shoulders. "Well, your ribs are healing nicely. As is that nasty cut on your forehead. From the slight fever and raspiness of your voice, I'd say you're also getting over a bout of pneumonia. With some antibiotics, you'll be fine in no time." She smiled down at the young man. I heaved a silent sigh of relief.

"What happened to you, Nick?" Alex reached down to smooth his bangs out of his eyes.

"I was on my way to Merrel. Took a wrong turn somewhere. Axle got caught up by a branch a few miles up the road. Had to hike it here in the rain. When I made it here, I got caught when the porch fell in."

I saw the others wince. Alex gave a shudder and Philip's eyes clouded over with concern. I couldn't tell Derek's reaction as his back was turned to me. Rachel looked on sympathetically.

Nick continued, "Next thing I know, I'm in a room upstairs. I thought I'd only been here a couple of days. I must have been real sick not to notice."

"Well, let's get you home then, shall we?" Derek nodded to Philip who retrieved Nick's shirt and held it up to help the young man into it. Nick stared at it for a moment before putting it on, I can only imagine what he might have been thinking. He stuffed his feet into his shoes and let the others help him to his feet. He swayed a bit, Philip grabbed an elbow to steady him. "How did you find me, anyway?"

Alex answered. "When we got your message, we kept trying your cell-phone. The first couple of days, we didn't get a response." Nick blinked at that. "Then yesterday Derek called and someone picked up. No one said anything, but the connection stayed open. We contacted your service and triangulated your position."

They had been making their way towards the back door. I crept down the stairs and followed them, listening, until they made it to the door.

He smiled weakly. "You make it sound so easy."

Derek interrupted. "It wasn't. This house isn't on the maps. We literally stumbled upon it." The group left the house through the back door and made their way up front to the car. I rushed back up the stairs and watched them through one of the upstairs windows. I could still hear their conversation.

Nick looked at the wreck of what had once been a magnificent porch. The oak tree lay flat across the front door, having crushed the porch roof and flattened the platform. Nick's face paled and he murmured, "Nothing could have survived that."

Philip placed an arm across his shoulders. "You were verra lucky. You must have just cleared the deck."

Nick swayed again, Philip braced him, face and voice concerned. "Nick?"

"I'm fine. I just..." he paused and looked entreatingly at his friend, "Can we go home, now? Please?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we can go home now." Philip helped Nick into the car and the others piled in as well.

Nick looked up at the house from inside the car. I backed away from the window. He never saw me during his stay, no reason for him to do so now.

Though no words were spoken, I heard him say, 'Thank you.'

'Your welcome,' I responded.

I watched the car drive away and smiled in satisfaction, memory returning. My job was done. I'd been sent there to wait for someone, and to help them when they arrived, and I had. I believe I helped in more than just the physical sense. Much of what Nick had said during his nightmares were clearly things he hadn't told to anyone else, and they weighed down on him. I hope that by bringing them out into the open, even unknowingly, he could begin the process of healing his spirit.

"You did well, child." The Voice said behind me.

"Will he be all right?" I asked, still concerned for the young man.

"He's with his friends now. His family. They'll take over where you left off."

"I'm glad. This wasn't one of the easiest assignments I've had."

"That's because you weren't allowed to reveal yourself to him, or the others."

"Or do anything that a normal human couldn't do," I added.

"Precisely." I basked in the warm glow of approval for a moment. "Ready for your next assignment?"

I nodded, "Where to?"

"A small town called Sloanville. There's a precinct you need to look in to."

The room disappeared in a flash of white light.

A pure white feather drifted to the floor in an empty Victorian house.

**The end.**


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